


lonely water

by diwata



Series: the eleventh hour [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diwata/pseuds/diwata
Summary: “It’s good to have you here again,” he says. “You’re all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you look up and go back inside.”“Haven’t I been here?” Newt finds himself asking.“No.” Theseus smiles sadly. “You haven’t.”Newt realizes that he has a decision to make.





	lonely water

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same universe as one hand, one heart and pulls some lines from it. Again, the narrative is non-linear. Also, this is loosely based on the novel Norwegian Wood.

Newt remembers Leta, first, by the silhouette she casts on the shores of the Black Lake. Even her shadow is lovely, Newt forlornly observes as one of her curls shakes itself loose from her carefully woven plait. There are rumors about Leta, numerous, plentiful, and equally ridiculous as they are pervasive. The most ridiculous one, amidst rumors of dark magic and illegitimacy, is that Leta never smiles. Leta does smile, quite often, Newt always adds, though her smiles are often colored by other people’s misfortunes or are exclusive to non-human creatures. Still, she does smile. Sometimes, she smiles at Newt: when he misplaces his wand, when she needs a favor, when she threatens to dunk him into the lake and leave him to the mermaids.

“You wouldn’t mind that, though, I suspect,” she jibes. Newt chuckles in response.

“When would I have the time to see you, then? Don’t be absurd.” Leta glances back at him briefly. Newt watches Leta as she watches the surface of water closely, searching her reflection for something.

“Have you heard of the Mirror of Erised?” she asks him. He shakes his head. “It’s hidden somewhere here, right on campus, away from students and professors.” She tightens her green and silver scarf around her neck. “It’s supposed to show your heart’s greatest, most secret desire,” she whispers, gaze not moving from the surface of the Great Lake. Leta clenches her jaw and Newt traces the slight movement of her muscles with burning familiarity.

(“Familiarity,” Theseus snorts, “is that what your lot is calling it now?”)

“Why is it hidden?” he asks. The lake is unnaturally still.

“It drove a woman insane,” she says. The upper corners of her lips curl. Leta’s smile is slow and is almost never full. It never quite reaches her eyes. “Luckily for me, I have you.” She takes him by the elbow. “You’ll make sure I won’t go happening upon cursed mirrors, won’t you?”

“And if I happen upon this cursed mirror?”

“It’d never take you.” Leta fixes his tie. “Hufflepuffs are true and just.” He looks into her eyes, searching for emotion, but they are as dark and unmoving as the Black Lake. “I want you to always remember me,” she tells him. “Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here, like this?”

“I will,” he replies with utmost sincerity.

“Good,” she says, smiling once more. It is the last thing he recalls before the sting of freezing lake water.

* * *

She interrupts him mid-sentence while they take lunch at a Muggle restaurant. “Sorry,” she leads, finishing what’s left of her pasta, “I just wanted to tell you that I love the way you talk.” Newt looks at her, baffled. “Have you always talked like that?”

“Like what? British?” he asks, focusing intently on the entree that Tina had persuaded him to order purely for the name.

(“What’s more New York than a New York Reuben?”

“Jacob?”)

“No, like you’re an archaeologist tryin’ to document every last detail of an ancient civilization,” she says with apparent admiration.

Newt shrugs, grinning at her from behind his sandwich. “I’m not sure, I never noticed before.” Tina leaves one piece of gnocchi in her plate and says she’s finished, something uncharacteristic enough to arouse his concern. “You’re tired,” he remarks, bringing his palm to cup her chin. She relaxes and leans into the touch as he giggles.

“Work’s been a mess. They’re deploying a task force soon.” She straightens her back. He’s recently acquainted himself with the concept of worrying, and this is something he solely attributes to Tina’s presence in his life. She catches his troubled gaze and promises him she’ll stay safe. “There’s something I want to show you before I head out.” Tina pulls him into an alleyway to Apparate and it feels strangely intimate. They walk like this, always, side by side, and he’s enamored with her profile, the curve of her nose and expanse of her forehead. Hair flattened by the navy hat shoved into her coat pocket, he picks a strand off her woolen shoulder pad carefully. Tina weaves their fingers together as they walk.

Eventually, she perches herself on top step of a Muggle library and pats the stone by her. He settles beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. He surveys the new location carefully and regrets not bringing his journal with him. Tina is captivated by the majestic sight of the twin marble lions that lay on either pillar, paws practically dangling off the ledge, as if they’re ready to take off. It takes him back a year to runaway zoo animals and jewelry store heists.

“Ma used to bring me and Queenie here when Queen was only a baby. She told me that those statues were charmed to be stationary whenever someone was watching them, but at night, they came alive and roamed the city,” she recounts softly. There is a form of tenderness when she speaks about her parents, Newt notes, that is different from the tenderness that she shows him and is even different from the tenderness she shows Queenie. He realizes that this is the place she goes when she stares blankly into the distance, sometimes. It is a place that he will never be able to reach, but she always comes back to him. “Newt,” she says, “wanna know what Queenie said to me last night?” He places his hand on the small of her back and nods. “What happens when people open their hearts?” Tina smiles.

He remembers how cold the Black Lake is in the fall. The answer on the tip of his tongue is nothing, but Tina cuts him off before he has the chance to respond.

“They get better,” she tells him. The sunlight highlights the reddish brown undertones of her hair. The smile on her face betrays nothing. Here, there are no favors to be asked or secrets to be kept. There are only himself and Tina on the steps next to him, their half-Griffin guardians swinging their tails lazily, and Tina’s tenderness in the dying sun.

* * *

Their first kiss happens like this: unexpectedly, wild in all the ways that Leta is, hidden in the Room of Requirement. It’s just past midnight on her sixteenth birthday and she tells him she wants to celebrate, so they trek down the many flights of stairs together and explore the castle. Newt thinks that Leta, with her desire for adventure, would have been more properly placed in Gryffindor.

(He later discovers that her desire for adventure is more accurately described as a lust for disaster.)

“Don’t people normally go to the Astronomy Tower for this?” he asks derisively, hands clumsily fumbling with her robes.

Leta grins at him mischievously. “Is there any part of us that’s normal, Newton?” she retorts. She takes him by the wrist, leading him deeper into the room. She pauses abruptly. Leta seems to forget that he’s beside her, completely bewitched by the fantasy unraveling in front of her. Newt grasps her hand, looking for reassurance, but feels it go limp in his as she sits down on the floor cross-legged. He decides to sit behind her, putting his legs on either side of her and holding her from the waist. Leta doesn’t acknowledge him.

He looks forward and sees it now, an ornate mirror lined in gold. Newt squints at his reflection, but he can only see himself as he is: holding Leta. Staring at the mirror, he moves his right hand to brush an eyelash off of her cheek. As he pulls away, he realizes that his fingertips are wet. The Leta in the mirror laughs at him. Newt glances at the girl in his arms, eerily still, cheeks damp. He glances at the mirror again and wonders what she sees. Newt holds her steadfast; Leta doesn’t stop crying.

* * *

Tina swirls the whiskey in her glass, ice almost fully melted into the drink. She’d ordered one for him too, but he’d spit it out reflexively. Rolling her eyes, she claims his leftover booze and leans over the counter. “And a Bee’s Knees for the lady,” she says to the bartender, but the teasing tone of her voice reveals the command is directed at Newt.

“You got it, Sheba.” The man pushes the amber cocktail towards her and she hands it off to Newt, who goes to sit at a nearby table. Queenie and Jacob are on the floor wildly dancing to the fast-paced jazz. Everyone around them seems dull and grey in contrast. He takes a modest sip of his cocktail, determines it’s safe to drink, and proceeds to down the rest of it.

“I see you’re enjoying your drink,” a voice slurs in his ear. The warm breath tickles his lobe. He jumps in his seat slightly. Tina laughs and the deep neckline of her dress rises and falls with her chest. She’s half-done with her third whiskey. “Ah, applesauce!” she exclaims. “I’m boiled as an owl, we have to walk home.”

A bit boiled himself, he whispers, “Do the Muggles really put bee’s knees in this? It’s rather good.”

“I wonder,” Tina says mysteriously, neatly curled waves bouncing as she tilts her head towards him in contemplation. She sticks her arm up and waves a waiter down. “Another round for the table, please.”

Newt gently wraps one of her curls around his pinky finger. “I thought you were drunk already,” he says.

“Well, we’re not _zozzled_ yet,” she replies, as if that’s a sufficient enough answer. “Also, you’re a drink behind me. Catch up, Mr. Scamander.” Their drinks arrive and he downs his quickly, discovering that the whiskey isn’t too terrible if he closes his nostrils. “Look at those two lovebirds,” Tina coos. A slower number plays as they sway to the music, Queenie giggling to the thoughts Jacob isn’t vocalizing. “They’re eloping when we get to Europe,” she says so casually, Newt almost doesn’t realize the weight of her statement. “She hasn’t told me, but I know. She has this spark in her eyes. She’s willing to do anything.”

“What will you say?” Newt asks before standing and offering her his hand.

Tina takes it and uses him to steady herself as she stands, intoxicated. “What can I say?” He snakes an arm around her waist and he guides her across the dance floor. Where alcohol makes Tina loquacious and competitively argumentative, it makes Newt intrepid. “I’ll try to stop them,” she says when they’re a good distance from Queenie, “but in the end, it’s her choice, you know?” Tina rests her head against his chest and yawns. “When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is to give yourself to it. That’s what I think. It’s just a form of sincerity.” He almost succeeds into leading her to the exit when Jacob and Queenie appear beside them.

“That’s my sister, mister,” the blonde chides, wagging a finger at him. He smirks back at her. Queenie winks at Newt before heading back to the bar.

“I can’t believe my baby sister’s gonna get hitched and she hasn’t invited me to the wedding,” Tina says. Her bow-shaped lips leave a red stain against the white of his shirt. “The nerve.” She scowls, incredulous.

“You’re aware they met because you arrested me?” Tina’s scowl deepens at his wolfish grin.

“Y’know,” she opens matter-of-factly, “for a certain kinda person, love begins from something tiny or silly. From something like that or it doesn’t begin at all.” Tina drunkenly holds her thumb and index finger almost against one another and shows him.

“I see,” he says, finally pressing her against the brick wall of the poorly lit exit corridor. “Like a book?” Newt wears a look of triumph on his face.

Tina kisses him and he tastes the whiskey that rolls off her tongue. She lifts her skirt slightly and he sees his wand tucked into her lace garter. “If you think I didn’t notice,” the brunette comments wryly, “you should remember that I’m an Auror.”

* * *

Jacob lifts the blue canvas flap of Newt’s tent and pokes his head through, scanning the room for the wizard. Newt eyes the baker, the glare of the fireplace illuminating his face. He scribbles a final memo in his leather-bound journal before shutting the book. His friend saunters over to him. “Queenie sent you,” Newt infers, “because she’s cross with me.”

Jacob scratches the back of his head. “Half-right,” he amends Newt’s guess. “Came on my own accord.” Newt smiles, gesturing to the stool next to his. He always appreciates Jacob’s blatant honesty. He pours him tea, a fragrant white blend he’d purchased during his trip to China. Jacob thanks him and takes a long sip. He frowns as he swallows, disgust evident on his face. “No sugar? No cream? Y’know what, forget about it.” He waves his hand as if to shoo the teacup away.

“It’s healthy,” Newt insists.

His companion raises a skeptical eyebrow before finishing his tea. “Ugh,” he gags afterwards. He shakes it off. “So,” Jacob says, elongating the word. “Tina, huh?” Newt avoids making direct eye contact. “I get that you and Queenie are both worried, but sit tight. Your brother said it’d go smoothly, right?” Newt doesn’t say a word. Jacob whistles awkwardly to fill the silence. “Anyway, I know that’s not what you’re fighting about.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re referring to, Jacob.”

(“My sister has been missing in action for _weeks_ and the only thoughts floatin’ around in that brain of yours are about _Leta Lestrange_?” Newt scarcely dodges the stinging hex she throws at his head.)

Jacob raises his palms defensively. “Sure you don’t,” he chortles. “Listen, I get it. But you gotta make a choice eventually, pal.” He sets his glass down on the table. “You mean well, but people are gonna get hurt when it’s time for them to get hurt.”

* * *

Newt regards Tina, when they first meet, with a kind of endearing amusement until she brandishes her MACUSA identification card and threatens to throw him jail. He is intrigued by her loose, ill-fitting clothing and the mustard on her upper lip. With her short hair and men’s clothing, she radiates the type of aggressive, tenacious energy that reminds Newt of his brother. It isn’t until he sees her duck beneath a table that Newt observes a piece of himself in her, that blossoming insecurity peeking out from the cracks in her facade. In spite of this, he learns that she relentlessly tries to do what is right, that she is unshakably loyal, and that she has a taste for cream in her coffee.

(“You’d be in Hufflepuff, I think,” he tells Tina after his meeting with President Picquery.

“What’s a Hufflepuff?”

“Er, well, I was a Hufflepuff when I was in school.”

Tina bites the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “That sounds wonderful,” she replies sometime later, in a voice so true that Newt blushes.)

The Tina asleep in the bunk across from him now is a dying flame. Her hair is long now, her body torn into pieces. She vomits the first time he feeds her, unable to hold down the flavorful food. She flinches and cries when he lifts her legs by the ankle and bends them inward to prevent atrophy. It’s hard on everyone, Newt knows, but the selfish part of him, no matter how small, complains that he’s drawn the short straw. Queenie is tucked away with Jacob in the corner of another tent. He’s the only one who sees her like this: motionless, unfeeling, devoid of spirit. But he’s also the only one who’s there for her small victories: a finger reaching over to tap him, a reluctant smile, the first time she stands on her own. Only Theseus is there for her largest one (her first words), but Newt tries not to resent him too much for it. He is, after all, the reason they were able to rescue her in the end.

The only wish Tina has once she’s mobile is to visit the case. “I miss Dougal,” she says, wincing as she puts pressure on her bad leg.

“He’s rather gone on you,” Newt divulges. “I like to think that he’s more fond of you than he is of me, actually.” He holds her hand as he guides her down the ladder. In the cabin, the sight of something makes Tina halt unexpectedly. Her body convulses, eyes wide. He kneels beside her until the Demiguise arrives and wraps its arms around her securely. Newt panics trying to uncover the source of the episode. He looks up and sees Leta’s portrait raising her chin in her perennial beauty. Dougal’s eyes glow blue before he disappears. Newt sighs, hesitantly throwing the framed photograph in the nearest drawer with a touch of guilt. He can almost hear the portrait’s protests.

“Now that I know her,” says Tina, “I think I understand why you’re still in love with her.” Newt cringes. “I believe in you, Newt. But when you take me, you take only me. And when you hold me in your arms, you think only about me.” She turns to him, eyes glowing. “Is that clear?” He swallows and nods. They sit in uncomfortable silence on the wooden floor for a while. With a fire he hasn’t seen in weeks, she begins. “I don’t care what you do to me, but I don’t want you to hurt me,” Tina declares, stubborn like the scar on his upper lip. “I’m a real woman with real blood flowing through my veins and I’m telling you that I love you. I’m not some aged photograph.” Newt opens his mouth to reciprocate, but she shushes him. “I’ve had enough hurt already in my life.” Subconsciously, her hands dart to her thighs. “More than enough.” She sighs. “Now, I want to be happy.”

The following morning, she takes a Portkey back to MACUSA while he’s asleep. Newt never took Tina to be the type to run from her problems, but he understands that at some point, a wounded soldier must retreat. He writes her once a week. At first she updates him on her status in America: she’s been taken off active service indefinitely. The apartment is empty without Queenie. Her leg pains her when it rains. Her responses dwindle in length before they stop all together.

Her final letter is two sentences long, four words total, and scrawled shakily on the back of a postcard showcasing the Hell-gate Bridge stretching over the East River. _I’m sorry_ , she writes. _I can’t._ She signs the letter _Yours, Tina_. Newt hopes. He doesn’t stop writing.

* * *

 The visitor’s cell in Azkaban is cold and dismal. When Theseus finishes with his interrogation, he leaves the chair to Newt, standing with his wand ready behind his brother. Leta studies him through her dark lashes and utters a name he hasn’t heard in almost a decade. “Sebastian,” she croaks slowly, mulling over the sound. “I never wanted to hurt him, but I ended up hurting him the most,” Leta confesses. “Why is that? Why do things happen that way? I mean, I really loved him.”

In many ways, she hasn’t changed since Hogwarts. She’s still decisively oblivious about the consequences of her actions and still hauntingly beautiful. But now, Newt can’t bear to look at her. He can’t separate her countenance from the image of Tina writhing in pain. There are a million things he wants to say her, but he simply replies, “And not me.”

Leta’s head and eyes roll back before she hunches over, hiding her face. They stay for a few minutes until she recovers. “I’m fine. Sorry, I must have scared you.”

Newt recalls Tina’s vacant pupils when they found her. “A little.”

“Sometimes I get so confused, I don’t know what’s happening,” she mutters by way of explanation.

(“Sick _,_ ” Theseus hisses. “That girl is sick. She’ll have that sickness until the day she dies.”)

“Will you really come to see me again?” Leta’s eyes remind him of the shadows creeping around them and the monsters that guard her cell.

“I will.” The promise is flimsy. Newt folds his hands.

“Even if I can’t do anything for you?”

(Tina places one hand on the side of his face and tells him, “It’s okay to forget.”)

* * *

 Theseus is silent in his rage, which is rare and very frightening. Newt has never seen him quiet and has considered the very word the antithesis of his brother’s essence growing up. Theseus is always debating with someone, snickering at the pranks the Gryffindors play every Halloween, or flirting with an attractive witch or wizard. Newt shrinks away from him as he escorts him to the edge of Hogwarts’ grounds. His older brother’s figure looms over him, his lips pressed into a stiff, straight line. He looks almost menacing in his Auror’s coat.

“I need your complete honesty, Newton,” he speaks sternly, as if interviewing a witness, “was this your doing?”

Newt nervously glances at his fingertips. “It was an accid--”

“You’re not answering my question.” Theseus interprets his brother’s refusal to talk swiftly. “It was that Lestrange girl, wasn’t it?” Newt feels himself seething, the heat rising to his face. “I told you. That girl is sick,” he says, taking Newt by the shoulders and shaking him. “She’ll have that sickness until the day she dies.”

“She doesn’t mean to be this way,” Newt snaps.

“That’s even worse. To hurt someone who cares for you and to be completely unaware of it.” Theseus is calmer now. He releases Newt and fixes his jacket.

“She didn’t hurt anyone,” he says.

“Didn’t she? Where are you now, Newt? Are you in the Hufflepuff common room cramming for finals?” Theseus rubs his temples. “Where’s Seb? In a hospital bed or on his way to St. Mungo’s?” He takes a breath. “And where is Leta? Where is she?” His acid tone makes Newt wince. “That girl is _rotten_. And now she’s made a fool of you.”

* * *

 The evening before his departure Newt stands in the corner of the small bedroom with his arms crossed. Beside him, Tina is on her knees, reaching into the empty space underneath her bed. The floorboards creak underneath her weight, though Newt thinks that she looks thinner than ever. He thinks that if he looks at her from the correct angle, she might actually cease to exist in this space. Tina pulls out a handsome chest and makes her way over to him. As she stands, she grimaces before staggering over to him. Her cane lays discarded near the kitchen. He calls it with a quick _Accio_ and levitates the case, but she refuses both forms of assistance, preferring to lean on him and carry the chest in her arms to the sitting room.

Tina opens the chest the same way she handles the glass jar in the kitchen cupboard: with love. Newt catches flashes of pink and silver fabric peeking outside of its wooden corners. Tina presents every article in the case to him in a precise, dry manner, as if presenting evidence to the court. “No-Maj rouge, Maybelline. Frequently used, fits to the shape of the user’s lips. The bottom of the tube showcases my sister’s fingerprint, perfectly intact.” Newt nods at each demonstration, furrowing his brow as if trying to reach a conclusion. Tina appreciates this, he thinks, or at least surmises by the way her voice loses its melancholy edge as the box becomes empty.

She pauses at an old photograph and seems surprised, thrown off by its sudden appearance. “Oh,” she says, sinking into the couch beside him. A young Queenie beams up at him in graduation robes beside her older sister who is sporting a bloodied blouse and a shallow cut on her right cheekbone. The older sister gradually smiles, throwing her arms around the graduate and kissing her on the cheek before ruffling her hair, much to her sister’s dismay. The Tina next to him rests her temple on his shoulder, sniffling. “I got into a fight that day, had to be thrown out,” she mumbles, continuing her curation. “Oh,” she repeats, unable to focus. “Sorry, can you... “ Tina looks at him with her red-rimmed eyes. “Can you just talk a little? It gets hard sometimes.”

“I’m happy I found you, Tina,” Newt says. He’d been wandering the city for hours prior, loitering in her favorite sites: the pillars where the stone lions of the library sit, the Muggle coffee cart two blocks from MACUSA, and the famous Kowalski bakery. He hadn’t expected to run into her near the docks with pebbles in her hand, praying. Tina bows her head now. He suspects it’s also in worship, the way her fingertips caress the worn borders of her sister’s portrait, then his own scarred knuckles. “I believe I’m a bit more adapted to the world now.” Tina cranes forward to study him. Her eyes dart across his face, and he follows them with the same fervor. After a while, she stops suddenly, and stares back into his.

Five years ago, Tina might have been embarrassed, and Newt might have had the decency to look away. Now, Newt gazes at her with unwavering certainty. “It’s true,” Tina agrees quietly. “Your eyes are clearer, now. And you can look me in the eye.”

(“When’s a good time to stop being alone?”)

Her eyes are cloudy, but he makes up his mind to do what he sailed across the Atlantic to do. They were heralding the first rain of spring, not the tempest of passion. “Marry me,” he says, mouth suddenly dry.

She glimpses at his mouth and he feels the heat rise to his cheeks. “Well, alright,” she says breathily, laughter evident in her voice. Newt looks down. The picture in her lap stares up at them; Queenie is gushing, young Tina is hiding her face. His Tina smiles at him as he slides his grandmother’s ring onto her fourth finger.

* * *

 Newt waits outside the tent patiently until Theseus comes out. His older brother throws him a sideways glance before clearing his throat. “She’s done with her debriefing,” he informs Newt with a grave look on his face. “We’ve got to bring her in, Newt. We have to arrest her.”

“Tina?”

“No,” Theseus says with poorly concealed frustration, “Leta. Leta Lestrange. I will find her and ensure Auror Goldstein gets the justice she deserves.” Newt takes this like a hard blow to the stomach while his brother looks on in disapproval. He glimpses at the man, his brother, the Gryffindor, made obvious by his ruddy cheeks and the streaks of gold in his hair. “She sacrificed everything for this mission, Newt.” The judgment is heavy in his voice. Before he goes to deliver the report to his team of higher-ups, Theseus pulls him into an embrace. “Don’t feel sorry for yourself,” he advises. “Only arseholes do that.”

* * *

 “Why didn’t you write?” he asks as they turn the corner. He offers Tina his elbow as she hobbles along beside him, her walking stick tuck beneath his right arm.

“I was distracted,” she says at first. Newt scrutinizes her sunken cheeks and the lines beneath her eyes. “Penance,” Tina avows after a minute passes. “Fasting and prayer.” Newt reminisces about his own atonement and sinks into the darkness of an Azkaban holding cell. He blanks out until Tina waves her hand in front of his face. “Newt,” she calls. “Where’d you go? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have,” he responds. They stop walking.

Tina stands in front of him and tries her best to smile. “I have, too,” she says. It’s comforting. He and Tina share several things: a distinct hardheadedness, a dislike for crowds, and sorrow. Being around her, even for less than an hour, invigorates him with a pulsing tranquility. He looks over her shoulder, curious about the sight that holds her gaze. KOWALSKI BAKED GOODS, he reads. Newt sees Queenie and Jacob through the glass display at the counter. His heart aches.

Tina pivots on her heel to face him. “Remember when all of us went dancing?” she asks him wistfully, a far-off look in her eyes.

“The time you had me,” he pauses, trying to recall the word, “zozzled?”

She grins. “The time you tried to seduce me, you dog,” Tina corrects him, giving him a playful shove. “If I could rearrange my life, I’d want that to be my first kiss.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Whiskey and all.”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “I suppose we’ll have to settle for last, then,” Newt tells her. Tina’s smile is radiant.

* * *

 Theseus approaches him hours before he heads out to battle. “The Muggles are calling it the war to end all wars,” he tells him, “will you stand and fight with us?” Theseus is dressed in the green Muggle uniform, standing tall with his hands behind his back, towering over Newt as he usually does.

“I thought the Minister said we’re not to get involved,” Newt says, blinking at Theseus in bemusement.

“To hell with the Minister,” Theseus sneers, beating his fist against his chest. “People are dying, Newt.”

“I’ll fight,” he states resolutely. Both brothers seem startled by the declaration. Theseus puts a heavy hand on Newt’s shoulder and nods.

“We’ll need you on the Eastern Front.” Theseus gives Newt a sobering look. “It’s good to have you here again,” he says. “You’re all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you look up and go back inside.”

“Haven’t I been here?” Newt finds himself asking.

“No.” Theseus smiles sadly. “You haven’t.”

* * *

 Near the docks, Tina holds his hand. “I’m here,” she repeats twice, as if trying to convince herself of the fact. Her eyes are wet. As Newt dips his head to kiss her, he feels the gaze of the others on the platform, but he’s fought two wars in one lifetime and couldn't care less about propriety. They are alive, she and him. And the only thing to think about, muses Newt, is continuing to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
